Hogwarts Principal's Office
"Albus…"
Professor McGonagall softly reminded Dumbledore, who was deep in thought.
"Minerva, it seems I must go in person for this matter."
Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes behind his spectacles holding a gentle yet undeniable smile.
According to Hogwarts' custom, young Wizards need to reply to their acceptance letter to confirm their intention to enroll.
If it was a Muggle family, the school would also send a Professor to personally visit, explain everything to the guardians, and act as a guide to lead the young Wizard to Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies.
Dumbledore often did this when he was the Transfiguration Professor, but he hadn't done it since he became Principal.
"Albus!" Professor McGonagall's voice was laced with panic.
She knew Dumbledore's power, but any accident could happen in that cursed land.
"Chelmsford has not given birth to a young Wizard for four hundred years."
Dumbledore said calmly, his tone carrying a self-evident persistence.
"I must go, mustn't I?"
Eventually, Professor McGonagall relented.
She understood Dumbledore and the importance of this matter.
If a Wizard truly was born in the land of Chelmsford, did that mean the curse had begun to weaken or disappear?
Dumbledore turned and walked into the Principal's lounge.
When he reappeared, he had changed his attire: a sharp grey overcoat, with a matching three-piece suit underneath, a white shirt with a black tie, and a pair of gleaming black leather boots.
He had uncharacteristically tied his long silver hair into a low ponytail, and his long beard was meticulously braided into a Viking-style plait.
In Chelmsford, a cursed land where magic was prone to failure, Transfiguration was difficult to sustain.
This dust-covered outfit was what he wore when he ran for President of the International Wizards' Confederation in 1932.
It was also the most reliable choice now.
Looking at Dumbledore's attire, Professor McGonagall's thoughts also drifted back to that era.
Dumbledore spun around in place and asked with a smile.
"How do I look?"
"Excellent."
Professor McGonagall answered sincerely.
The two walked out of the school, discussing opening day matters, tacitly avoiding the upcoming home visit and the topic of Harry Potter.
Stepping out of Hogwarts' Anti-Apparition barrier, Dumbledore winked at Professor McGonagall, signaling reassurance.
"Pop!"
With a soft sound, the air twisted, and Dumbledore's figure instantly vanished.
Chelmsford Border, Highway
Dumbledore's figure appeared on a secluded road leading to Chelmsford, walking steadily towards his destination.
"Beep beep!"
A taxi slowly pulled up beside him.
The window rolled down, revealing the young driver's inquiring face.
"Sir, do you need a ride?"
Dumbledore nodded slightly, opened the car door, and got in.
"Where are you going?"
The driver started the car, observing the distinguished old man in the rearview mirror.
"Branded Manor, thank you."
Dumbledore's voice was gentle.
Hearing the place name, the driver's fingers on the steering wheel tightened almost imperceptibly, and his gaze lingered for an extra moment in the rearview mirror.
He didn't ask further; over the years, there were always curious or daring people who went to that place to explore.
The car smoothly drove towards the outskirts.
On the way, the driver couldn't help but glance in the rearview mirror again, only to meet the old man's gentle gaze looking back.
He smiled awkwardly, breaking the silence.
"Sir, are you a Professor?"
"Yes."
Dumbledore's smile held a hint of nostalgia.
"However, it has been a long time since I personally taught students."
"Traveling alone?"
"You could say that, time is always too short."
"Have you been here before?"
"Once, when I was young."
Dumbledore shared anecdotes from his youth traveling the world, while the driver talked about the changes in Chelmsford over the years.
The two conversed pleasantly.
The driver was surprised by the old man's profound knowledge, while Dumbledore saw in the young man the shadow of his old friend Jacob—a love for life and that unique, unpretentious vitality belonging to Muggles.
Finally, the taxi stopped outside the manor's rusty iron gate.
"Sir, do you need me to wait for you? Or should I come back to pick you up later?"
The driver couldn't help but ask Dumbledore, who was about to get out of the car.
"This place… taxis rarely come here. How long do you think you'll need?"
Just as Dumbledore was about to politely decline, the driver added.
"Is three hours enough? I can come back for you."
This kindness touched Dumbledore.
"Thank you very much for your kindness. In three hours, I'll trouble you."
"You're welcome, old sir. See you in three hours."
The driver smiled and waved goodbye.
Dumbledore watched the taxi drive away until it disappeared at the end of the road.
He slowly turned, facing the manor gate, which was entwined by dead branches like bony claws, so desolate that even bird calls were absent.
The iron gate let out a harsh groan in the wind.
He sensed a peculiar aura in the wind.
Both cold and damp, yet dazzling and warm, this contradictory feeling made him feel a strange sensation.
Meanwhile, inside Branded Manor
"Can't you just 'pop' things into existence with Alchemy?"
Azazel was still incessantly complaining about Nios's unreasonable demands.
Nios, who was originally strolling with Azazel, suddenly stopped, his gaze sharply directed towards the manor gate.
"Open the door."
Nios's tone was cold.
"We have a visitor."
Azazel followed his gaze, his nostrils flaring as if catching an invisible scent in the air.
"Hiss… hiss… hiss…"
"It should be a righteous character. You fix your eyes, I'll go open the door."
Before he finished speaking, Azazel was already flapping his small wings, slowly flying towards the manor gate.
"Bang!"
Nios's palm slammed against the mottled wall of the manor!
"Crackling!"
Amidst a piercing crackling sound, dense white lightning suddenly erupted from him, spreading to envelop the entire manor!
Azazel, flying towards the gate, felt the hair on his back stand on end, startled to the point of almost falling from the sky.
He abruptly turned back, only to see a blinding white light engulfing the dilapidated scenery, pursuing him at a terrifying speed!
"You dog! Would it kill you to give a heads-up?!"
Azazel screamed, putting all his strength into his wings, transforming into a pink streak of light shooting towards the gate.
Outside the Manor Gate
Dumbledore keenly sensed that the peculiar presence deep within the manor was approaching the gate at an astonishing speed.
He instinctively stepped back a few paces, his gaze fixed on the rusty iron gate.
Boom!!!
The central lock portion of the iron gate was torn open as if hit by a cannonball, and a blurry pink shadow, carrying gravel and smoke, violently smashed out!
Dumbledore even glimpsed that the creature's head seemed to have been directly shoved into its chest cavity by the immense impact!
Almost simultaneously, the furious torrent of white lightning arrived!
The blinding white light instantly engulfed the damaged gate and its opening!
The intense light forced Dumbledore to squint his eyes slightly.
The light came quickly and disappeared even faster.
When the white light dissipated, Dumbledore's pupils constricted slightly.
Where was the dilapidated, rusty gate now?
A brand new, heavy, black carved iron gate, gleaming with a metallic sheen, stood majestically in its place.
The lock area was as good as new, as if the explosion and hole just now were merely an illusion.
Looking inward through the open wrought-iron gate, the scene was even more dramatically transformed.
A straight tree-lined avenue led to the magnificent main house in the distance, flanked by meticulously manicured lawns, like green carpets, and orderly gardens.
Dumbledore could clearly feel the strangeness of this magic.
It was not about Transfiguration or repairing objects, but about decomposing and reorganizing matter.
Just then, the pink figure that had crashed through the gate moved.
Azazel scrambled to his feet, swaying unsteadily, his posture peculiar.
First, he let out a series of muffled "oooh… oooh…" sounds.
As if trying to adjust something.
Then, "Pop!"
With a soft sound, his head suddenly pulled out of his chest cavity!
He shook his head, then his gaze fell on Dumbledore, or more precisely, on the still-held wand in his hand.
"Wizard?"
Azazel's voice carried unconcealed wariness.
Seeing that this strange creature could communicate and seemed to bear no ill will, Dumbledore subtly moved his wrist, quietly retracting his wand into his sleeve, but the scrutiny and vigilance in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.
"Yes."
Dumbledore replied calmly, his voice gentle yet imbued with power.
Azazel didn't explain anything, slowly flapping his small wings, swaying unsteadily as he flew into the manor.
"If you have something to say, come inside."